


CG: WHAT THE FUCK IS A "TEET"

by viscrael



Category: Homestuck
Genre: FTM Dave, M/M, Make Outs, Trans Male Character, Troll Culture, Tumblr request, vague grinding but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscrael/pseuds/viscrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Easy, Vantas, I’m not doin’ anything.”</p>
<p>“Except getting in my goddamn personal bubble,” he huffs. “But I doubt you’ve ever fucking heard of one, considering how often you’re in mine.”</p>
<p>You grin at him for a moment.</p>
<p>“In my bubble. How often you’re in my bubble. Oh, shut the fuck up, Strider, or I swear I’ll kick you out.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	CG: WHAT THE FUCK IS A "TEET"

**Author's Note:**

> i rlly rlly rlly love ftm!dave and marchi0ness on tumblr requested this so herE

This is stupid.

Like, ridiculously stupid. This is the single stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. Like if there were awards for this, there would be one for you, holy shit, just for Dave Strider, all plaque-d up and ready to go, hell yeah that motherfucker’s shiny. You wouldn’t even be running against anyone. They would just call your name automatically, “And the award for coming up with the stupidest ideas of the century goes to…Dave Strider!” The announcer only paused for affect—everyone already knew you’d win it, of course, you’d been the only one nominated for it. The crowd goes wild and you graciously accept, all suited up and born ready for this shit. Thank you, thank you everyone, no, really, I couldn’t have done it without you. Your mutual agreement on my stupidity has taken me far, kids, and I’m sure it’ll take me even farther.

This is even stupider than the fucking monologue you just went off on too, and that was a really fucking stupid monologue, even by your standards.

Oh, and your opinion on the level of idiocy this all is has absolutely _nothing_ to do with how nervous you are. Nope, no correlation.

And then, going off on that, there’s the fact that you are, actually, _nervous_ , which, in itself is even _more_ ridiculous. Like, whatever the fuck do you even _have_ to be nervous about? This isn’t the first time you’ve hung out with your best bro as more-than-bros. This isn’t the first time you’ve hung out with your more-than-bro with the intention of doing things either.

And still, anxiety bubbles in your stomach. It completes the circle of stupidity.

You sigh to yourself, bite your lip, and then sigh again. Okay. Calm. You’re calm. Completely calm. Nothing to be worried or nervous or anxious about, Dave. Nope. Cool as a cucumber. You’re fine.

You manage to pick yourself off your back from where you’d previously lain on the floor of your room and haul yourself to the bathroom. There’s a mirror in front of the sink (you’ve spent many hours doing nothing but messing with the alchemizer, and thank God you did; it produced some pretty useful shit, including mirrors. Not that you use them often. Or anything.), and you grimace at your appearance. Heavy bags under your eyes from recent lack of sleep, hair a mess, shoulders slumped. You’re breaking out, too, as if it’s not bad enough, damn teenage hormones, and you rake a stiff hand through your hair, snagging it on a few tangles. You seriously need a haircut soon; you’re starting to look a little too scruffy.

You’ve never liked long hair on you. The last time you’d had long hair was nine years ago, when you were seven, and even then it’d always been more of a nuisance than any thing. Kept you from playing with the other kids by getting in your way and getting constantly tangled, and you got gum stuck in it on more than one occasion. Bro ended up cutting it to a short bob when you were eight, and you cut it off entirely at age ten.

Anyway, you run a comb through your hair and manage to make it look at least a little more presentable, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Okay, you can’t get rid of all your goddamn embarrassing pimples (ugh), but you brush your teeth and slid your shades on. The lenses are huge, thank God, and cover most of your pimples, as well as the few freckles that litter your cheeks. You’ve never had much of a problem with your freckles—you just don’t like them that much either.

There. Slightly better.

Sighing again, you give yourself a small pep talk (which you would never admit to doing had you been approached about it— _lookin’ at you here, Rose_ ) and head back to the main part of your room, slipping your shoes on and grabbing your phone. You open up pesterlog and begin typing.

 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

 

TG: hey dude

TG: you ready for this

TG: were doing this kids were making this happen

CG: OH MY GOD.

CG: SHUT UP AND GET OVER HERE YOU DUNDERFUCK.

TG: dunderfuck

CG: DID I STUTTER.

TG: /dunderfuck/

CG: WHAT PART OF “DUNDERFUCK” DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND, OH MY GOD. DO ME A FAVOR AND SHUT UP.

 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] 

 

You snicker to yourself but do as requested, instead heading out the door and down the winding hallway of the meteor. You have the route to his “respiteblock” memorized (another thing you would deny, given the chance) but it takes a considerable amount of time to get there. Three years on this god forsaken thing gives you plenty of chances to memorize routes, but still can’t do anything to shorten the time between your room and a current angry troll’s.

When you’d first gotten stuck here, he’d chosen to make his home in the darker areas of the meteor, down a short basement-type hallway that slants downward and gets increasingly ominous every time you go down there. Rose had chosen one directly next to Kanaya’s (sisters and their lesbian alien vampires, you’re shaking your head over here), Terezi’s a few minutes away from there and conveniently near the makeshift kitchen, and you’d housed yourself away from the others, nearest to Can Town. The murder clown hasn’t shown up in some time, and you guess he lives in the vents or something equally as unsettling.

Anyway, you make the trek down there, mostly because you prefer being in Karkat’s room to your own on these hangouts, and Karkat wasn’t complaining. Your footsteps echo as you walk. You knock on his door lazily—or you hope it sounds like that, and not the nervous, too-quick ones that would mirror how you’re feeling—and wait approximately three seconds before he swings it open and just looks at you.

“Hey, KK,” you say, stuffing your hands in your god tier pajama pockets and trying to look nonchalant.

He steps aside to let you in. “Hey.”

“So,” you pull your hands out of your pockets and crack your knuckles nervously. “We doin’ this or what?”

“Oh God,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes and heading to the couch that sits in front of his bed. “Just get over here, you bulgestuffer. It’s my turn to choose the movie.”

You grin a little, mumbling “Bulgestuffer?” and sit down. It’s not a very comfortable couch, but it’s better than the floor, plus it makes it easier to watch whatever god-awful thing you’ll be forced to endure this time.

(That’s a total lie, too. You’re hanging out with him and watching his stupid troll movies of your own volition; you like being with him, and pretty much take any opportunity you can get to hang out with him without it being awkward. But he doesn’t have to know that.)

Karkat shuffles around the find what ever he’s looking for while you turn the TV on and set it up to watch whatever he’s putting ons. He emerges from his extensive collection of troll romcoms to bend in front of the DVD player and put something in. You totally don’t look at his ass when he bends down either. Nope.

Sitting back on his heels, he waits until he’s sure it’s working before coming over to sit with you. “Lights,” you remind him just as he settles down, and he groans in irritation.

“I just sat down, Strider, you get to do it.”

“Fuck no,” you say, “I’ve been comfortable for like ten minutes, there is no getting me up at this point.”

“You’re insufferable and a douche and I hate you.” Nevertheless, he gets up and turns the lights off with a few grumbles. His footsteps are loud.

“No, you doooon’t,” you taunt, drawling it out more than necessary, and it takes your eyes a second to adjust to the darkness. You see him roll his eyes as he sits back next to you, and you kick your shoes off. Why’d you even bother with them in the first place?

“It’s starting, you ass,” he mumbles and flicks your ear for affect. You let out an indignant “hey!” but quiet down the second time he asks you to, because the movie really is starting and you know how he gets when you keep him from hearing what’s going on.

“What fucking movie is this,” you ask in a whisper—the fact that you can’t whisper for the life of you should be noted in this—and he only flicks your again, this time on your cheek, instead of responding. Your question is answered when, after the intro, the title comes up on the screen in bold, black cursive, but you don’t bother reading the whole title because it’s too fucking long and spoils the entire movie anyway.

The trolls on the screen, a highblood and a lowblood, are in this “quirky romance drama” with something to do with one of them pretending to be the other’s matesprit for a reason you don’t bother listening to. Slowly they become actual matesprits—shocking, of course, and totally not to be expected. But, gasp, oh fucking no, another highblood steals one of their attentions and begins being interested in pursuing a kissymesistude or whatever the hate-mance thing is called, and whoops there’s the weird bromance quadrant involved too, thus lots of “DRAMA!!!” ensues with hilarious shenanigans on the side. Wow. Fucking incredible.

Regardless, it’s probably one of the better ones he’s chosen, and Karkat himself seems pretty entranced in it, his eyes not leaving the screen for the duration of the movie. However, you’re not all that interested, and you opt to look at him instead. It’s a bit difficult to make out anything in the dark, so you have to get really close to him to see his face. At some point between the lowblood getting a mwah-rail and the highblood getting all pissy about it (oh no, more shenanigans), Karkat’s head ended up on your chest, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders. Your heart totally isn’t thudding painfully in your chest, oh fuck no. You’re secretly glad for the protection of your hugeass glasses, because with trolls and their fucking weird vision, he would’ve been able to see you blushing had you not had them. When he glances at you, you offer him a grin. He huffs, but leans his head back against your chest.

Somehow, you end up with your back against the headrest of the couch with him sprawled across your chest, and you think it has something to do with how focused on the movie he is because otherwise he would pull away immediately and mumble something about “FUCKING BOUNDARIES, STRIDER” even though you hadn’t even been the one to initiate contact. Either way, you don’t complain; he’s warm, like, ridiculously warm, and you think absently that it might have to do with his blood caste or whatever, and the lull of his breathing, methodic and slow, added with how ridiculously uninterested in the movie you are almost puts you to sleep.

He slaps your chest halfheartedly when he starts to notice you nodding off. “Strider, if you fall asleep when it’s just getting to the good part I will kick your ass all the way off this fucking meteor and then some.”

“A’ight, a’ight, I’m awake,” you mumble sleepily, sitting up and consequently forcing him up with you. He grumbles a little at the shift, but continues watching the movie, settling back down once you get comfortable again.

Ugh, even though the acting is decent and the characters aren’t utter shit as they normally are, you are _bored_ out of your _fucking_ mind. You sit up again, this time completely, and Karkat full out _growls_ at you, like some sort of barkb— _dog_. Like some sort of _dog_. God, you’re spending too much time with him.

“Chill your teets there, buddy, I’m just gettin’ comfortable. If I have to watch this shit, the least you can do is let me make myself comfy.”

“What the fuck is a ‘teet,’” he barks, and you laugh.

“I’ll tell you later,” you say and pull him into your lap. He squeaks a little. “Easy, Vantas, I’m not doin’ anything.”

“Except getting in my goddamn personal bubble,” he huffs. “But I doubt you’ve ever fucking _heard_ of one, considering how often you’re _in mine_.”

You grin at him for a moment.

“ _In my bubble_. How often you’re in my bubble. Oh, shut the fuck up, Strider, or I swear I’ll kick you out.” He slaps you, but it’s less to hurt you and more out of annoyance. “That didn’t even sound vaguely dirty, you shitstain, why must you turn every goddamn sentence into some sort of shitty reference to your bullshit human quadrants.”

You snicker again, but don’t say anything else, opting to wrap your arms around his waist. He doesn’t move away, despite earlier protests.

The movie goes on, and he doesn’t say much else. You lean your head against his shoulder to see the screen, but the amount of boring it is hasn’t lessened, so instead, you leave feather light kisses on the crook of his shoulder, but he feels them anyway.

The troll stiffens and for an agonizing moment you think you’ve fucked up badly. Then he sighs and asks in a quiet mumble why you’ve stopped, so you keep doing it, until they turn to little nips and bites and you have to move the fabric of his shirt ( _your_ shirt, he stole this one from you a while ago, how’d you not notice he was wearing it until now?) out of the way to gain access to more of his skin. Fuck if troll skin isn’t weirdly tough, but it’s oddly nice to bite, and the little sigh he gives when you suck a little harder is by far the most satisfying thing you’ve ever heard, holy shit.

It’s about a quarter until the movie ends, you estimate, and he’s sighing and leaning back into you and emitting these soft little growling noises from the back of his throat, somewhere between a chirp and a purr. His head’s titled to the side to allow you better access, when did he do that?

He abruptly pulls away, and your stomach sinks. _Fuck, fuck, shit fucking titties, you fucked up you fucked up—_

Instead of getting mad or getting up and leaving in a flurry of embarrassed hand motions and loud growling as you’d expected he would do, he sits on your lapand kisses you, his hands on your shoulders.

He’s not that good of a kisser or anything, seeing as he’s probably not had much experience (you’ve all been stuck on this meteor since you were, like, thirteen, of course he hasn’t, him and Terezi haven’t even been together since probably before you were on this godforsaken thing, hurling towards the new session at eldritch gods know how fast) but then again, neither have you. You hiss a little when he bites you on accident. Still, it’s kind of hot.

“Fuck, sorry,” he says, pulling away when he notices your lip bleeding, and you shake your head and go back to macking on him, hands resting on his hips unsurely. He responds again, careful this time of his teeth, tongue sliding into your mouth with absolutely no objection from you (why are troll tongues so weirdly rough? Like, fucking sand paper, oh God why are trolls so much like cats why are you enjoying this so much you are so fucked up) and whoa, okay, he’s grinding down on your lap, alright, _fuck,_ is this good or bad you can’t fucking tell. 

You said that all outloud. Welp.

He pulls away again, looking concerned, and you take your shades off because you’re not entirely sure you want them on during sexy times anyway. “What’s wrong?”

“What?” You blink. “Nothing. No, fuck, nothing’s wrong.”

He crosses his arms. “I call bullshit.”

Internally whining at the loss of contact—you really fucking liked his hands on you, okay, they were finding their way down your body and it was really nice, shit—you shake your head and say, “No bullshit, man. Nothing’s up.”

“I asked if something was _wrong_ , not if something was _up_ ,” he says, like he just won the call-Dave-Strider’s-Bullshit Lottery. You roll your eyes, but he continues, pointing a finger at you accusingly and narrowing his eyes. “So there _is_ something up?”

“ _No_ ,” you answer immediately and raise an eyebrow at him in annoyance. You just want to continue making out, not talk about the weird nervous feelings you’ve got going on, for other reasons than the making out itself. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Can we go back to macking now?”

The stubborn asshole just shakes his head. “Fuck, no, Strider, you’ve got me interested and vaguely worried, you’re not backing out of this now.”

“What’s there to even be worried about?”

“The fact that you’re acting weird while we’re getting it on, and that in itself is a little fucking unsettling.” It’s his turn to raise an eyebrow at you and purse his lips all defiantly. You want to kiss those damn things out of their defiance. (You are never telling him you just thought that, holy shit was that stupid or what.)

You groan and loll your head back in annoyance. “Oh my _God_ , it’s nothing.”

“I’m not leaving it alone until you tell me.”

There’s a moment where you don’t say anything, opting to just look at him in frustration with his persistence, and then you give away to the look he’s giving you with a small sigh. “Alright, you jerk, I’ll tell you. I guess now is as best a time as any.”

He grins a little at his triumphant and shifts in your lap. “Okay, explain.”

“See,” you start, chewing on your lip as you choose your words. You don’t really know how to explain this, and wow, you really _don’t_ want to explain it, but you’ve gotta tell him at some point if you ever want to initiate a romantic and/or sexual relationship with him. “Well, shit, first, how much do you know about human anatomy?”

He narrows his eyes at you. “The fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question, Vantas, c’mon,” you say, giving him a look. He huffs, crossing his arms again and the uncrossing them once more and resting his hands on your forearms. “Uh, I don’t know. Enough, I guess.”

“Okay, so…then you know how humans have one thing or another?”

“Yes,” he answers, “I’m not stupid enough to be ignorant of your idiotic reproductive system. It makes zero sense by the way, how the _fuck_ do you ever fill quadrants when the only liable mate for reproduction has to be the opposite sex?”

You roll your eyes, although not really in irriation. “Don’t ask me, KK, I didn’t design the system.” Continuing a little more seriously, you say, “But yeah, well, normally the dude’s got a dick and the girl’s got a vagina.”

“A what.”

“Vagina,” you repeat, more amused than anything. “Human equivalent of a nook.”

“That’s the dumbest name for a nook I’ve ever heard of, and I’ve ever a lot of dumb names for them.”

You can’t help but snort a little before going on, and he’s managing to calm your nerves some. “Okay, well…that’s not the case with me.”

There’s a moment where you wait to gauge his response, and when he only gives you a confused look, you say, “I was born a chick, meaning I have a ‘nook.’”

He nods. “Okay. So, why’s this a big deal?”

“What?”

“I mean, thanks for telling me and all, I’m glad you did, but, like, what the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

 Oh. Yeah. Cultural differences. You always forget about those. It _would_ make sense that trolls don’t see anything weird about being transgender though—you mean, they’ve all got the same junk, and there doesn’t seem to be an prejudice involving anything but the blood caste thing.

You shrug, suddenly feeling silly for being so nervous. “Just…letting you know, I guess. For…sexy times.”

He blushes a little at that, much to your amusement, and you poke his cheek. He swats your hand away. “Again, why would that matter for ‘sexy times’?” Making air quotes, he rolls his eyes at your word choice.

Laughing a little, you give him a short, chaste kiss. “I guess it doesn’t.”

Karkat doesn’t let you get away for long before he’s wrapped his arms around your neck and is kissing you again, hands in your hair. You’re suddenly glad you opted to brush it before coming to hang out with him.


End file.
